The Life of Frank and Scarlett
by PrincessAlica
Summary: Formerlly titled Frank and Scarlett's WEdding Night -- A new chapter has been added, which goes into greater detail of Scarlett's reaction and thoughts after Frank's Death.
1. Frank and Scarlett's Wedding Night

_Author's Note: This isn't meant to be a pleasant, happy little read. This was inspired by the yahoo group discussion about Scarlett's sex life, and I just thought what was she thinking and this came to me. I think it is valid look into how it could have been. Thanks for reading._

She was terrified. There were no other words to describe it. She knew no one else would understand why she had chosen this, why she had subjected herself to this misery. But it had been the only way to save Tara.

And so she sat quietly sitting at the vanity in the room where Charles had spent the majority of his life. And she waited for the inevitable. She had refused Charles advances on their wedding night, but she knew that eventually she must give in to Frank's marital rights no matter how much she did not welcome them.

Her hands trembled as she brushed out her hair before quickly plaiting into a single fat braid that hung down her back. She was trying to be brave, trying to act as if it wasn't bothering her. In fact she had carefully ignored the prospects of intimacy with her future husband until they returned home from the quiet ceremony before the justice of the peace. But now he would be ready to go to bed soon, and she would be expected to consent. She could refuse him tonight, but that would not last. And no matter what, eventually she would be forced to offer up her body to him. The thought caused bile to rise in her throat. She saw little difference between what this encounter would be and what would have happened to her if she hadn't shot the Yankee. But at least Frank was kind. He would not be trying to injure her. But the thought of his hands on her was unsettling.

It wasn't fair the things that a woman had to endure – that she had no power over her own life. It wasn't right that she would be expected to suffer in silence. All she remembered from those brief nights after her wedding night was the pain and discomfort that it caused her. And of course she could not forget the aftermath of those encounters. And there was nothing that she could do to prevent the same from occurring again. But at least if that were to happen, her duties would be temporarily reprieved.

She wanted nothing more than for life to return to the way it used to be. How she missed flirting and balls and parties. But that was all behind her now. She had no choice; she was only doing what had to be done. She couldn't think about it now. She didn't know if there would ever be a time when she would be able to think about and stand it.

She knew Suellen would hate her, not that she already didn't. But there would be no forgiveness for this. But it had been the only way to save Tara and keep a roof over her families heads. She took no enjoyment from this; this would be a nightmare. And she steeled herself against the emotions, and readied herself to face her new husband.

Even now she could hear the heavy tread of his steps on the stairs. She wanted to run – flee from this horror. But she did not move other than to more tightly wrap her robe around her body – knowing that the wrapper would not deter him. But no matter what he would never know how much the thought of his body disgusted her. There was nothing pleasant about this.

The door shut quietly as he came into the room. "Sugar?" He questioned.

She didn't turn, she couldn't look at him. This was a nightmare, a nightmare that had begun the night that Atlanta fell. She couldn't show emotion, wouldn't show emotion. If she ever started to cry, if she ever began to let go of her control, she knew that she would never stop. And then who would take care of her family. There was no one else.

"Sugar, Aren't you coming to bed?" Frank prodded.

And Scarlett knew that there was no use avoiding this. She just wanted it to be over. So she rose from her seat at the vanity, still clutching the wrapper tightly to her body. She walked past Frank and climbed into the bed without speaking. She lay there in silence, her body stiff as a board as he awkwardly climbed on top of her. She knew that he must feel the bones jutting from her hips and her collarbone. She knew that she was too thin, that the starvation and want at Tara had done this to her. He opened her wrapper, and now the only thing separating their bodies were his nightshirt and the thin material of her worn out nightgown.

His whiskers scratched against her face as he kissed her in a manner that evoked no response in her other than disgust and revulsion. She closed her eyes, knowing what was coming. Her nightgown's hem was raised so that it bunched at her hips. She retreated into her mind reciting times tables and adding figures for the household while he took her. She couldn't think about what was happening to her, she had to think of something, anything else. It was humiliating and degrading to be used like this. But she could bear it as she had born all of the trials in her life. This would not master her. She continued adding and counting as he moved above her. And she hoped that this encounter would be blessedly brief. And she knew that she was no better than a common whore. She had sold herself for the price of the taxes on Tara to a man that she did not love, who she felt little for other than revulsion. But Tara was safe for a moment.

When he was finished, he rolled off of her and went to sleep. She rolled away from him, as far as the small bed would allow. Tears of humiliation sparkled on her eyelashes, but he would never know. No would ever know just how much this marriage was costing her. No one would ever know.


	2. Frank's Death

There was chaos swirling in the air as Ashley lay limply on the bed, bleeding so much that he had to have lost most of his blood. Rhett had a strange look about him, a strange look that she had no comprehension for. There had been an odd look sen her way when Rhett had instructed Archie in what to do with the two bodies. And then a bubble of suspicion began to rise, was Frank dead? She turned her wide frightened eyes at Rhett, "Where is Frank?" She cried.

It seemed that instantly Rhett was by her side. He smiled briefly while simply telling her, "All in good time." But her hands were already shaken. Without being told she knew, she knew that she had killed him. Rhett's voice broke through the descending fog. "Steady that lamp, Scarlett. You don't want to burn Mr. Wilkes up. Miss Melly – I beg you pardon, I mean, Mrs. Wilkes...."

"Oh, Captain Butler, do not ask my pardon! I should feel honored if you called me 'Melly' without the Miss! I feel as thought were my – my brother or – or my cousin. How kind you are and how clever! How can I thank you enough?" Rhett responded, but it was as if her mind had shut everything else out. Rhett was explaining what had happened, but it was as if his voice was coming from very far away. At times it seemed as if he were floating closer to her and drifting as if she were watching it all though a tunnel. A few words filtered into her mind. Ashley had been to a whorehouse. And Hugh and Doctor Meade and Old Man Merriweather had been with him. "Not the old gentleman!" She cried.

The words continued to swirl and eddy around her like Flint river in flood stage, too many words for her brain to comprehend or contain. But the little she did know was that they had been to Belle's and Rhett had a key. That thought made her more ill than she was already feeling. "Then it's true!" Her heart cried out despondently "Then he does live with that dreadful Watling creature! He does own her house!" Little else even registered with her, for his defection to a whore hurt in a way that didn't make sense to her.

And she stood trembling and weaving unsteadily on her feet until Rhett took the lamp from her and led her from the room. "You can't do anything here. Come into the parlor by the fire." He took her by the arm and propelled her from the room. He was being so oddly gentle, why was he being so kind? "You've had a rotten day, haven't you?"

She allowed herself to led into the front room, and yet as she stood in front of the fire her whole body began to shiver uncontrollably. It was all colliding inside her mind now. The chance that this was only a possibility had evaporated. It was true. And the truth was terrible and unbearable. Rhett's face held no expression. For a moment it scared her into silence. She could not work past the lump in her throat. When she finally found her voice, she stumbled over the words. "Was Frank at – Belle Watling's?"

"No." There was now no gentleness in his voice. It was blunt and clear. And she trembled, for ever this certainness in her heart could be proven wrong. He had escaped to Texas. He was somewhere hiding. He'd be home any minute. "Archie's carrying him to the vacant lot near Belle's. He's dead. Shot through the head." Rhett's voice spoke the words. "He's dead. Shot through the head. He's dead." The words repeated over and over until they meant nothing. "Shot through the head." How could Frank, old fussy Frank be dead? How was it possible?

Her hands trembled, and she stumbled back to one of the chairs in the front room as she backed away from the bedroom where Ashley lay unconscious. She sat down heavily, as if in a trance, not caring who saw. However, all had vacated the room, disappearing in the other room to aid Ashley or to return to their own homes. And in silence, she stared vacantly at a torn spot in the wallpaper on the wall, in her mind trying to figure up the cost of making a repair. But the figures would not line up. Her mind could not work in its usual manner. Shock and dread and fear were mingling together, constricting her throat. It was bewildering. Her breath came in short gasps. What if somehow they were to take her money because he had been killed? What if she was left destitute once again? Frank had been a kind man, a good husband as far as she had allowed him to be.

She was to blame. He had gone to avenge her, to take care of her. It was her fault that he was gone. The weight of the guilt settled heavy on her chest. What was she going to do now?

And then a flicker of relief danced before her eyes, she would not be forced to resume their awkward encounters within the marriage bed. And yet that traitorous thought only deepened her guilt, shouting accusations at her. The dark night outside of the house seemed to close in on her. What had she done?

And yet from Beau's small nursery came a thin high cry of an infant. And there was no one else to tend to the children at the moment, for they had all been sent to deal with other tasks, leaving Scarlett with no choice other than to handle the child by herself. She knew immediately of course that the child crying was her own, as if the child already knew that her father had died. But an infant so young certainly could not be aware of such things yet.

She walked woodenly into the small room that served as a nursery where Wade and Beau were still soundly sleeping. But Ella's round eyes peered out of her apish small face. Her was mouth pursed and her face red from crying. Scarlett reached unsteady arms out to retrieve the sobbing child.

There was no doubt as to one of the reasons why she was crying. She needed to be changed and freshly diapered. Once that task was accomplished, Scarlett set about in the normal routine of Ella's nightly schedule. She sat down into the rocking chair, and situated herself in a way that her modesty would not be compromised. She should be taking the children home. But she knew that there was no way that she would be able to carry Wade across the lawn and up the stairs. He was small for his age, but he had already passed his fifth birthday. And he was much too large for her to lift.

Ella suckled greedily as Scarlett tried to push the events of the evening from her mind. Slowly she realized that Ella had already finished, yet she had not fallen asleep as she normally did. Scarlett rapidly refastened her buttons and adjusted her clothing, so that she covered. But she could not avoid Ella's round eyes that stared up at her mother unblinking. And somehow the image of the child in her arms twisted and contorted before her eyes so that it was Ella's father's face that stared soberly up at Scarlett. Those eyes held an accusation. She could hear Frank's voice as if he was still beside her. "If you only had listened, then I would still be alive. You killed me, Scarlett. You killed me."

Scarlett trembled at the words, for the guilt for the blame in Frank's death was weighing heavily on her. "No, no, no. I didn't want you to die. Oh, Frank, I am sorry. I'm sorry" she cried out in voice heavily laced with grief.

Then she felt a firm hand on her shoulder. "Scarlett, do you need me to get Melanie?" Came Rhett's smooth voice.

Scarlett rapidly brushed away the tears that had already spilled on to her cheek. "No." Her voice wavered as she tried to collect herself. "I'm fine."

"Can I help you home?" He offered gently.

She nodded, then remembering that they were in near total darkness, she told him that "that would be fine."

Scarlett rose from the chair with Ella still in her arms as Rhett went to the small bed and gathered Wade up. "Thank you. I didn't quite know how I was going to get them home. If Frank had been here...." her voice trailed off quietly and Rhett did not pursue it.

They slipped silently out of the house and made their way across the darkened lawn. They did not speak until they were inside the house. "I'm sorry, Scarlett. I know that this was a rotten day. No one should have to go through a day like this." His voice was tender with concern.

She seemed to be ignoring him, still quite obviously in shock over the situation. "Can you carry Wade up to his bed. I would but I can't carry him."

The walked up the stairs in companionable silence. After Scarlett motioned toward the door to Wade's room, she hurried into her room and placed Ella in her bassinet. Ella had fallen asleep and only stirred a little as she adjusted to the changed position. Then Scarlett made her way numbly down the stairs to the parlor, needing a sip from the swoon bottle.

"Let me get you something stronger than that." Rhett spoke from the shadows.

Scarlett's hands trembled as she continued to try in vain to procure the bottle. "I just need a little drink. I just need a little."

Rhett gathered her shivering form in his arms. "Shhh, hush. You are going to be fine. No one is going to hurt you. I would never allow anything to happen to you." He whispered into her hair.

She nestled her head into the solid wall of his chest. She was shaking and trembling, although with the might of Hercules she had stemmed the tear flow. "I didn't want him to die. I didn't want Ashley to be hurt. I just was trying to take care of my family. That's all I was doing, protecting my family." She pulled away and stared into his eyes. "You understand, don't you. No one else will, but you understand."

"Shhhh," he comforted. "I understand, you were only doing what you thought that you had to do. You are not guilty of Frank's blood. You are not a murderer."

She gasped softly. "But I am Rhett. I am a murderer."

"You didn't kill Frank. I know for a fact that you tried to stop him from being involved in the klan."

"No, no. You aren't listening. I am a murderer. There was a deserter, a Yankee...." her voice grew soft as she recounted the incident.

"Hush, Scarlett. You needn't tell me."

"But I must tell you. I must tell someone. I've never told anyone. No one knows other than Melly." She closed her eyes and bent her head as she told him the tale. "Rhett, he was taking my mother's jewelry box. I couldn't let him take mother's things." There was touch of panic in her voice when she thought of her mother, and a grief that she had never had the time to let go of. "It was only Melly and I in the house. And then when he saw me. Oh, Rhett, I knew that he was going to use me. I was afraid that he might kill me. Although I think if he had attacked me, I would have been better off dead. I didn't let him. I had Charles's pistol, and I pulled the trigger. I can still picture it. He was shocked, and he fell backwards. And there was blood, so much blood. Melanie helped me take care of the mess." She paused for a moment, as if to mentally gather herself. " I shot a man. I murdered a man, and then I buried him." She lifted her eyes to meet his. "I am a murderer, and I feel more guilty for Frank's death than I did for the Yankee. Frank was only doing what he thought he must. It is my fault he's gone."

"Scarlett, you have to get ahold of yourself." He said as she shook her, trying to break the haze of grief clouding her mind. "You can't even act like you know that you are a widow until the morning. You understand that right. You are still going to be forced to put on a show when they come and tell you that they found Frank's body behind Belle's. This isn't over yet, not by far. You are going to have to be the shocked grieved widow. Heavens knows that I wish that I could bring Dr. Meade over and give you a sedative. But we have to keep up the pretense. Scarlett, all of those men's lives depend upon it. Even your precious Ashely, perhaps him most of all. Get your self together."

Her chin trembled, but she nodded at him. "I can do this, Rhett. I will handle it." She assured him. "I can do this. I just can't think of it now. I'll think of it tomorrow."

He offered her several swigs of whiskey from the slim flask that he carried in his pocket. She coughed and sputtered as it made its way down her throat, searing a path inside of her, and then he sent her off to bed with a feather soft brush of a kiss on her cheek. "Good night, Scarlett." He told her as he settled his hat on his head. "If you need anything, anything at all. Don't even hesitate to ask."

She nodded as she wearily made her way up the stairs, slipping into the trance that the shock of the evening had settled upon her. Rhett stood for a moment watching before he quietly slipped out the door leaving her alone, a widow once more.

And it seemed that strangely life had once again come full circle.


End file.
